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Title: Final Descent Summary: Mulder faces several tragedies at once March 5, 2002 My nerves are so set on edge that the mere contact of the flight attendant makes me jump. She touches my shoulder and smiles a me, and I want to scream for her to go away, to let me be with my thoughts and jangled emotions. I don't want whatever the hell it is she is trying to give me, anyway. The only thing she could do to make me happy would be make this plane go faster; to create a magical tailwind that would drive us swiftly towards D.C. I would be satisfied just for it to get off the runway. We have been holding for take-off for half an hour. I want to yell. I want them to know I need to get home and they are slowing me down. The person sitting next to me leans as far from me as he can. The stench of jet fuel infuses my clothes and my skin. It cannot be washed away. The only saving grace is that it does cover the acrid smell of the carnage I have been witness to for the past week. This was not the first remains of a plane crash I've ever witnessed, just the first one blown out of the sky at take off by terrorists. Two separate groups have claimed it as their handiwork and three others are pointing fingers and assigning blame. Now, assorted remnants of humanity are scattered for acres, and the pieces are slowly being collected and put back together. Except for the souls of the 204 victims lost on that flight out of Salt Lake City. They cannot be put back together. They are gone. The youngest victim was eight months old. Not a car seat in the universe could have saved that little girl. She was Christopher's age. I now journey home to my son, hoping beyond all hope that he will be ok by the time I get there. I will sell my soul to the devil himself for him to be safe. I demand that my mind not think of it. I do not know what has happened, and I cannot accept the worst yet. The same flight attendant who touched me earlier is announcing our approaching take-off. I shut my eyes, trying to think of nothing. I feel the forces pull my body backwards into the seat as we ascend and the banking of the plane pulls me towards the man next to me. He doesn't notice. "I'll be damned. Will you look at that?" he says. I know what he is looking at. I have faced it up close and need no view from the sky. He taps my shoulder and asks if I want to see out his window. I don't open my eyes. I only shake my head no. I have been here for a week and am not sure why, as I am not that experienced with international terrorism. I guess they want a show of manpower to let the world know we are on top of this. NTSB, FBI, you name it, and they are part of the alphabet soup covering this one. I watch the evidence come in during the day and weep over that same evidence in the middle of the night. Teddy bears. Toys. Small clothing. I had better control of these emotions before Christopher. Not perfect control, just better. Today the call came that all parents dread. I was in the hangar where the NTSB is assembling the wreckage and never even heard my own phone over the machinery hauling the pieces in. Some young field agent came and told me my wife was on the phone, and I went to tell him I didn't have a wife, but the look in his eyes was all I needed to see. Something was wrong. I hurried to the makeshift office and picked up the ancient black office phone. "Scully, is that you?" I asked. "Mulder, there's been an accident..." was all she said. Her voice cracked and she was gone. The only sound that filled the line was busy background clatter. I could feel the blood draining from my body and the phone felt far too heavy to hold. Someone brought a chair so I could sit, but I didn't remember the process of sitting in it. It just happened. "Fox? You need to come home," her mother said, apparently taking the receiver from her daughter. "What happened? What's wrong? Is Christopher ok?" I asked. "When can you get here? Fox, she needs you," Mrs. Scully told me. "I'm at the airport now. I will try to get the next flight. Will somebody tell me what happened?" "A car accident. Dana's car was slammed into. Hit and run." "Is she ok? What about Christopher? Will you tell me something, damn it!" I said, my voice getting louder than I intended. Everyone in the office turned to look at me. "Dana is ok. Christopher is in the pediatric trauma unit right now. They aren't telling us much, but Dana is worried." "What hospital? Where did this happen? Who did this?" I asked, my questions coming faster than she could answer. "Hold on a moment." "Mulder?" she asks, and I could tell she had been crying. "Scully, what happened? Are you ok?" "I don't know how it happened," she said, with fear in her voice, "Please, just get back home fast." "I'll be there. What hospital?" I asked. "George Washington University Medical Center. I have to get back to him. Call me and let me know when you are going to get here." "I will. I love you," I said, and with that she was gone. SAC Michael Graham relayed my story to one of the many airline officials who had descended upon this airport, and I am now on a half-filled flight bearing the same corporate logo as the one strewn across the ground. Seems they had a lot of empty seats this week. "Are you part of the crowd investigating that crash?" asks the man with the window seat. "No," I answer, wanting to be left alone. "I just figured...you smell like jet fuel..." he starts to say. "I stood in the ticket line too long," I say, and with that he leaves me alone. March 5, 2002 I am standing in O'Hare International Airport, not quite sure which way I have to go now. My head is pounding and although I am familiar with this airport, I seem to have everything backwards. I set my carry-on bag down for a minute so I can find my boarding pass, and a security guard comes over to tell me that I shouldn't let go of my bag, and didn't I know the dangers involved. Didn't I see what happened in Utah, he asks. I am tempted to tell him I know personally of what happened in Utah, but I just fake a smile and ask him to point me to Gate 14. I have twenty minutes until boarding. Twenty minutes of not actively making my way to D.C. I want to call Scully, but am too scared of what I might be told. Scared that I am too far away to help. I will be there soon enough. I find myself pacing and I have the terrible urge to kick something. This all can't be a result of something I did, I keep telling myself. This was an accident. Nothing more. I have willingly watched the X-Files be closed down over the last eight months. I have hated it, but I have let it go for now. They will still be there when I figure out how to protect Christopher. I want to laugh and scream at the same time. How can I protect him? I can't be on the other side of the country and protect him. What more do I have to give up? Scully says God is the only one who can protect him. I need more than that. I stop moving and press my hands against the cold window overlooking the plane I will soon board. There is a late season storm coming through now and I watch as they de-ice the plane. They can see ice. It can be swept away. The evil in the hearts of men cannot be seen. Someone boarded that Salt Lake City plane willingly going to their death. Someone tried to hurt Scully and Christopher today. Whether with or without intent, they could have taken everything from me. They are calling for my flight now, and I find myself bound to that frosty window. I don't want to move. I am afraid of what I might find a the end of this leg of travel. I make myself move, force my feet to walk to the gate and board the plane. I can face whatever it is I find. I have before. Another attendant asks me another question when we are finally aloft. Another smile. Another damn day at the job for them, not particularly caring why all the people they face are making this journey. I tell her I don't need anything, and turn to look out the small window. March 5, 2002 I take a deep breath and step out my car. My jaw muscles ache from stress and I just want to get inside to Scully and Christopher. "Agent Mulder," an all too familiar voice says behind me as I start to walk towards the hospital.
I knew this couldn't be an accident. I turn around to face the man who called my name. The man who stands here smoking a cigarette and not caring about my son. "What did you do, you bastard!" I shout, coming after him. He drops his cigarette and puts both hands out to stop my forward movement. I can feel him pushing me backwards, but I do not want to stop myself. He reeks of smoke and lies and everything I've grown to hate. "Stop this," he says, "There are people watching." "Like I give a damn! What did you do to them!" I yell at him. "I told you to drop it, for your son's sake. For over ten years I've put up with you, allowed you to live. Watched you stumble and fail at achieving this so called truth of yours. Now you pull this latest trick." "What are you talking about?" I ask, backing away from him. "Agent Diana Fowley. I know you are well aquatinted with her," he says, lighting up another cigarette. "What about her?" I ask, my mind trying to comprehend what she might have to do with this. "Having her work the X-Files. Was that your brilliant countermove, Agent Mulder? Are you using her as your puppet? It didn't impress me," he says, blowing smoke my way. I am stunned into silence. She wouldn't do this without telling me first. "I am warning you again. I am the only one who can protect that boy of yours. Today was nothing as compared to what could have happened. You make sure that the X-Files remains closed. Do you understand?" he asks me. I do not answer. I only watch him walk away from me once again. I enter the hospital, my mind still flashing with the possibilities of what is going on. Diana wouldn't do this. She would have said something first. I know her at least that well. The volunteer at the desk sends me in the right direction to find my son and his mother. Pediatrics. He has been admitted in the hours since I've last talked to Scully. I find the elevator, push the button and wait. All this travelling to be held up by the elevator. I'm only a few floors away from finding out the extent of the damages Diana's stupidity might have caused my family. Everybody around me has that tense, quite air to them that hospitals invoke. Too much stress, not enough answers or time. The doors open and we all push the various buttons to take us to our various tragedies. I find Scully sitting by his bedside, holding his tiny hand. He is small, but I don't think he has ever looked smaller than he does now. He has tubes and lines going out of his small body, and a fast beep registers every beat of his heart. "Scully," I say from the doorway, "is he ok?" She looks up at me and I can tell she has been crying for awhile now. We have seen so many hospitals, but never together like this. Emily was one thing, but she wasn't mine. She wasn't ours. "Oh, Mulder," is all she says. She gets up and comes over to me. I hold her tight and kiss the top of her head as she cries into my chest. "What happened?" I ask. "I was on my way to my mother's when someone forced us into the guardrail. It broke away and we flipped down an embankment. They got away. Mulder, please say this was an accident. Please say this was nothing more than a case of hit and run," she pleads. I don't say anything to her. I can't give her all the answers she needs right now. Instead I walk over to my tiny son and hold his hand. "How is he?" I ask her. "He is doing better. There was a lot of swelling around his brain at first, but it is improving rapidly. There were no internal injuries," she tells me in her doctor tone. "He was in his car seat?" I ask, already knowing she is adamant about its use. "Of course he was, but it was a bad accident, Mulder. They are surprised I walked away from it." I notice his leg is in a small splint and I look up at Scully. "Greenstick fracture. It shouldn't cause any real problems in the future," she says. "Are you ok?" I finally ask her, noticing all the bruising on her face. "I'm fine. I'm just glad you are here." We both stand on opposite sides of our son's bed, each holding a hand. "I'm sorry this had to happen, Scully." "What do you mean 'had to happen'?" she asks me. "I have to go take care of some things. Will you be alright without me for a little while?" "Where are you going? Christopher needs you here." "I'll be back. I have to stop all this," I say to her as I let go of his hand and walk out the door. I can feel Scully's stare as I walk down the hallway. My nerves are more steady now that I know he is alive. He is tiny and fragile, and someone is trying to prove that to us. Another lesson learned. Now I must go take care of other pressing matters. I hope to hell Skinner is still in his office. March 5, 2002 "Tell me what in the hell is going on!" I demand, as I storm into Assistant Director Skinner's office unannounced. I am seething with anger that has only been augmented by sitting in D.C. traffic behind an accident. The town is in a fucking gridlock, like it usually is when there is multi-car accident. The blaring horns and jockeying for lanes has risen the level of my headache up to a throbbing, deafening roar. This whole mess has caused me to take up grinding my teeth to the point that my jaw hurts. Skinner is sitting at his desk, working late. He looks calm and collected, dressed appropriately for this office setting. I, on the other hand, clash with the formal surroundings, almost appearing to be a madman who stinks of a plane crash a continent away. He looks me up and down, but doesn't appear shocked to see me, his former agent now reassigned. He puts his hand up before another word can leave my mouth. "Agent Mulder, what can I do for you?" he asks, so smooth, so even. I know that with whatever I say next, this anger bubbling up inside my soul will be betrayed in my voice. "I need to know what in the hell is going on with the X-Files. I need to know who is reopening them," I say to him, using as much control as I can muster not to let my voice get too loud or too uneven. "Sit down, Agent Mulder," he tells me, pointing at the chair across from him, "and we can discuss these events rationally and calmly." "Calmly? My son is in the pediatric ICU at GWU right now because of these 'events.' You want me to be rational?" I ask him, noticing his look of genuine surprise. That surprise flickers quickly across his face, disappears, and he opens his mouth, but no words come out. He doesn't know yet. Scully wouldn't have called him to find me in Salt Lake City. She would have had to call the A.D. I'm now assigned to. "What are you talking about? What happened to your son?" he asks me, still remaining calm, but sounding quite concerned. "Scully... Agent Scully was run off the highway this morning. Apparently, it is a case of hit and run. Her car went through a guardrail and down an embankment," I tell him. "Are they...ok?" Skinner asks. "Christopher suffered head trauma and a broken leg. Do you know what it's like to get that phone call when you are on the other side of the country and helpless? You have no idea. He's only a baby..." I say, my voice cracking as my emotions change from anger to helpless grief. The image of his tiny body in that hospital brings tears to my eyes. I can feel them welling up, just as I can feel my heart ache from what I nearly lost. Skinner says nothing for a minute. He turns his head from me as I struggle to regain my composure. "And Agent Scully?" he asks, breaking his silence. "She walked away from it with only superficial injuries," I say to him. I know it's not the injuries on the outside that will effect her for life, but rather what this is going to do to her on the inside. She couldn't protect him. I couldn't protect him. "I flew back here as soon as I could, only to be met by cancer man in the hospital parking lot." "What?" Skinner asks, sitting upright in his chair. "It's not the first time. Right after Christopher was born, he showed up. He told me that in order to protect my son, I had to quit the X-Files. That's why I asked for reassignment," I say, realizing I never honestly told him why I asked to close the division I had given up so many years of my life for. "Why didn't you come to me with this earlier? Other arrangements could have been made," Skinner says. "There are no other possibilities at this time, sir. I need to know why they are being reopened. I need to know if I'm being set up." He sits back in his chair and flips through some of the paperwork on his desk. He pulls out the folder he is apparently looking for and opens it. "Agent Mulder, the order to reopen the X-Files came from the outside, far above any power I have. Agent Fowley inquired about being assigned to them several weeks ago, but it hasn't been approved yet. She said she discussed it with you. I assumed you were ok with it, considering her past involvement," he says, closing up the folder in his hand. "Great. Now they are assuming I am handing it over to Diana because of her...our past involvement, so she can finish the work I began. I believe the exact words were 'using her as my puppet.' I need to know who would want them open. I need to know who all the players are here," I say to him, hoping he can help me figure it all out. "Who would the players be, Agent Mulder?" he asks. My thoughts go into overdrive. Somebody wants me back on the X-Files and I don't know why. So many have tried to close me down before, have even gone to the point of trying to take everything away from me so I would quit. Now the pendulum is swinging in the opposite direction. "If Christopher gets ki..." I start, not even able to bring myself to say the word, "If Christopher is gone, then they are assuming I would go back to the X-Files. Why not? I'd have nothing else. If someone wants the X-Files opened, all they would have to do is suggest I'm back on them. These people don't follow rules, they don't care if I really am working on them or not. It's obviously someone who knows the threats to Christopher. It is someone playing on both sides. If my son is taken away..." "That isn't going to happen," Skinner says. The reassurance in his voice strikes something inside of me that has been waiting to explode. "You can't promise me that and you know it! These people are bigger than you and me!" I yell. "Agent Mulder..." he starts to say, trying to interrupt me. This time I put my hand up. "Scully and I have lost far too much already. Hell, we've lost so much that they had us go out and create a new person to lose because the damn well was running dry! I don't need you to sit there and tell me what is or isn't going to happen. What I need for you to do is to find out who wants the X-Files reopened and why." He waits to see if I'm going to rant about anything else. It's not the first time he's had to deal with this agent on a rampage. "Agent Mulder, I don't have all the answers for you..." "Then you better find some," I say, trying to bring my temper back under control. "Why don't you talk to Agent Fowley. Like I said, she was asking about the X-Files before the order came across my desk. Maybe she knows something," Skinner says. "Where is she now?," I ask, "Did she move here yet or is she still on assignment somewhere?" "I think she is in Miami. Let me find out for you." Skinner picks up the phone and makes several calls before he discovers her exact location. He writes it down on a piece of paper for me. "Thanks," I say, shoving the paper into my pocket as I head towards the door. "Agent Mulder," Skinner says before I reach the door, "Let this go until the morning. Go back to the hospital." I say nothing as I head out of his office in search of Diana Fowley. March 5, 2002 My flight to Miami leaves in fifteen minutes. Most of the people around me are dressed casually, heading off for their spring vacations on the beach. I still haven't been home to bathe or change. I still haven't been back to the hospital. I find a payphone and dial Scully's cell phone number. I know she is going to be furious, and she has every right to be this time, but I have got to get to the bottom of this. Her phone rings once before she answers it. "Mulder, if this is you, you had better get back here. Now." "Scully, it's me. Is something wrong? Is Christopher doing ok?" I ask her. "What is wrong is you aren't here with our son. He is improving and I'd like for you to be here. Where are you?" she asks, and I can hear the impatience in her voice beginning to build. "I'm at the airport. I'm going to Miami," I say to her, expecting the worst. Silence. Not a word or sound from the other end. "Scully?" I ask. "Yes," she says, the coldness in her voice reaching through the phone line and kicking me in the balls, even with just that one little word. "I have to do this. There is a power struggle going on and Christopher is their pawn. I have to find out who's behind it." She says nothing. The announcement for my flight is made and I want desperately for her to understand why I'm doing this. I don't have the time to explain it all to her. She's just going to have to trust me. "Mulder?" she asks me. "What, Scully?" "Who is in Miami?" I suck in a deep breath and let it out before I answer her. "Diana Fowley," I answer. I don't get a chance to say anything else before she hangs up on me. March 5, 2002 The air here is dripping with humidity and although it has been a somewhat mild winter in D.C., I feel as if I have stepped into a different season. Actually, I feel as if I got off the plane in a different country entirely. The rental car agent spoke better Spanish than English, and I ended up with a red, Mustang convertible instead of the compact I asked for. Now I look like all the damn tourists heading towards South Beach. I have no plans of seeing daylight in this city, hoping to make it back home by morning. Still, I put the top down, letting the air assault me from all directions with the hope that is will help clear my head and wake me up. I'm ignoring all the warnings they provided at the airport about the dangers to tourists here. Let some fucking punk try to car jack me. I'm armed. Besides that, I'm in one hell of a horrible mood. I find I-95 with little difficulty and head in the direction of the hotel Diana is staying at. I need to figure out what I'm going to say to this woman who keeps appearing from my past. More importantly, I have to figure out what I'm going to say to the woman at home who is a part of my present, part of my future. Diana must be down here working counter-terrorism with the Cuban-American community. Incidents of terrorism have been growing everywhere across this great nation of ours, including towns known only for their vacation possibilities and hot Latin atmosphere. I guess this explains why she didn't show up in Utah. I find her hotel off I-95. It is not as bad as the places Scully and I used to stay at, but it is still decorated in the style of that stupid cop show from the 80s. All pink and turquoise. Then again, I guess all of South Beach is like that, too. The kid at the front desk won't give me Diana's room number, even after I show him my badge. He takes it from me and calls up to her room, asking her permission for one 'Agent Fox Mudler' to come up. The conversation is short and after he hands me my identification back, he directs me to room 212. Diana opens the door before I can even knock. "Jesus, Fox. You look like shit," is the first thing she says to me. I walk into her room and shut the door behind me. "I started my day out in Salt Lake City and am ending it in South Florida. How should I look?" I ask her. She sits down cross-legged on one of the double beds in her room and stares at me. She is wearing a night shirt and was obviously getting ready for bed. "So, to what occasion do I owe the pleasure of your company?" "I need to know who wants you to open the X-Files, Diana. Who is behind it?" I ask her, getting straight to the point. She diverts her eyes from mine. She rarely does this, only when she is hiding something. "No one wants me to, Fox. No one is behind it," she says. I've known this woman for well over ten years and I know when she is lying. There is only one woman on the face of this Earth that I know better than the one in front of me now. I drop onto my knees in front of her and lift her chin up so her eyes meet mine again. "My son, my eight month old baby boy, was almost killed this morning due to this whole matter. Now, I want you to tell me what you know." She pulls away from my touch, stands up and starts to walk to the door. "I think you should leave." I stand up and grab her by the shoulder, spinning her back towards me. "Diana, tell me who wants this." "No one. I'm the one who asked to reopen them," she says. "Not according to Skinner. The order came from somewhere on the outside and I want to know from where. I think you know, considering you approached Skinner with this weeks before it came across his desk. I want you to tell me what you know. I want to know who thinks this is worth hurting my son for," I say to her, my voice growing angry. Diana doesn't move away from me. She has seen me at my worst and she's never been afraid of me. "Fox, you know what I find amazing about this whole thing? That you could give it up your life's work so easily for her. You wouldn't have done it for me, would you? But for Agent Scully, you just threw it all away..." "No," I interrupt, "what I find amazing is that once I thought I could spend my life with you and now you stand there lying to me." "Let's not get into personal attacks, Fox. It's not like you haven't ever lied to me before," she says.
I turn around an walk away from her in a last ditch effort not to lose my temper. "Besides, you son is still alive, isn't he?" she says, the contempt in her voice moving across the room in slow, ugly ripples before hitting its intended target. Me. That's it. The last straw. I turn around and grab her wrist. "You don't want this to get personal? Remember that miscarriage you had, Diana? Remember how you cried? Remember how we cried over that? Do you think this is different? I almost lost my child today. You remember what it felt like to lose that child. It tore us apart," I say to her, realizing to late by her expression how much it still hurts her, even after all these years. She looks down at the floor and I let go of her wrist. "Now, tell me who is responsible for this?" I ask her again. "I don't know," she answers. "I think you do," I say to her. "No, I don't. I'm sorry." "No, you're not. You say you're on my side. You've said it for so many years now. I need you now and all you do is lie to me," I say to her. "I think you need to leave now, Fox. I think you need to pursue other avenues to find the information you want." "Trust me, Diana. I will. Just don't you forget you're responsible for my son's life now, too. You better hope nothing happens to him," I say as I walk out her door. I'm out of the hotel and opening my car door when I feel her hand on my shoulder. I turn to face her and she leans closer to me. "Senator Paul Erickson," she whispers into my ear, "That's all I can say." I stand at the car watching her walk away from me. "Diana," I call out to her. She stops and turns to look at me. "Be careful. You don't know what you are dealing with this time. I don't want you to get hurt again." "Thanks, Fox. Go home to your son and his mother," she tells me.
I plan to do just that. March 6, 2002 I am stuck in this town overnight. Nothing flies out of here past 11:00 p.m., so I have to wait until I can catch the 6:35 a.m. flight back to D.C. Two security guards have approached me, but I just show them my badge and tell them I'm on my way home and they leave me alone. I can believe that I must look like a vagrant. I haven't slept since I was in Salt Lake City. Come to think of it, I haven't had anything to eat either. I wander around looking for a vending machine and a payphone. I drink down a Coke and dial our house, on the off chance that Scully went home for the night. I get our answering machine. I figured she would spend the night at the hospital. She hasn't spent a night away from Christopher yet in eight months. She certainly wouldn't abandon him now. Unlike me. God, I hope this Senator Paul Erickson that Diana told me about is somebody useful. Scully will kill me if this was fruitless mission to the Sunshine State. I haven't even seen the sun yet. I look out to where my plane is already silently waiting for passengers to fill it again. I lean against the glass, amazed at the difference in temperature from Chicago. It has been less than twenty-four hours since this all started and I have spent a total of five minutes with my son. I can't ever just leave it alone. Not even now. Always running off for the answers, Mulder. Always ignoring what is important. This had better save him. I sit down in a chair by the departure gate. The next thing I know, I'm being shaken awake by a gate attendant who is asking me if this is my flight that is boarding. March 6, 2002 I find Scully asleep in a recliner next to Christopher's bed. Most of the tubes have been removed from his small body since I saw him last. The cardiac monitor still fills the room with the joyful noise of his heartbeat, a sound I don't want the world to be without. I am standing over him when Maggie Scully enters the room and motions for me to come out into the hall. She stands close to me and although she is whispering, I know the trouble I am in. "Fox, back when it was just Dana and yourself and you were just partners, I became used to you running off on her when she needed you most. Now there is a lot more at stake here. You have a child. You can't keep doing this to her," she says to me sternly. "I had to. Someone did this to Christopher and I have to find out who it is," I tell her. "Dana needed you here. I thought you learned that once. I thought you learned what is important." I say nothing to her as I watch her walk down the hospital corridor. I go back into the room and sit in the chair Maggie Scully must have spent the night in. Within minutes I'm fast asleep holding on to one of Christopher's hands.
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